


Tipsy

by GoddessOfGanon



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, Rain, kissin, tipsiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfGanon/pseuds/GoddessOfGanon
Summary: There's always something to celebrate.





	Tipsy

It’s a quarter past midnight when he arrives on your doorstep, soaked to the bone with rain, Faust hanging as limply from his shoulders as his sodden cloak. They both seem to perk up when golden candlelight pours into the streets from around your ankles, swirling in yellow motes as you usher the drenched pair inside. Asra’s eyes don’t leave you as you bustle through the shop, long closed for the night, to your personal living quarters behind. In the time it takes him to blink, suspending his fixed gaze, you have added an armful of tinder to the low burning fire in the grate and set a pot on to boil, after having fetched some spare blankets from a chest at the end of the hall.

You’re speaking, he realizes. He’d been watching the shape of your lips for some time before realizing. “Gone for weeks,” You continue unawares. “Before deciding to show up in the worst storm I’ve seen in ages. My master’s timing is impeccable, quite.” You flash a grin at him over your shoulder, relief fluttering in your chest mingled with a sense of unease. You always did fear he’d show up on the stoop in a much worse state. His hands are shaking from the cold, but it could be worse. Much worse, you tell yourself.

“The Soothsayer I spoke with this morning said nothing of rain.” He returns lightly, as Faust slithers from his arm to be closer to the fire. You nearly trip over her as you head to the cupboard in search of something that will warm him up. There. A bottle of mulled wine, still sealed. Should help with getting the blood flowing, you think, withdrawing from the cupboard with the bottle and two glasses in hand.

“What are we celebrating?” Asra asks, pitching a brow in question.

“It’ll warm you.” You reply, filling both glasses to the brim. Asra accepts his gratefully, carefully, as to not spill any drops on the papers spread out across the oaken table, your scribbled words curled around his among various runes and incantations. Most all of your notes were like this, an addition that makes a completed work feel only more so.  

Conversation flows from the red waters coursing down your throat. You ask him where he’s gone before this, he asks you what you’ve been up to at the shop. It’s a diversionary dance, half truths that you cannot feel inclined to push, however deeply you wish to know, well, everything. Where he’s been, who he’s been with, who, if anyone, might lay awake at night thinking of him, as you’ve found yourself doing of late.

Your head begins to feel foggy before you’ve finished your first glass. It’s the reason you keep little alcohol in the house; senses were too quickly smothered, experiences elapsed before sunrise. Asra doesn’t seem to notice, recalling a safe enough tale, more so an anecdote, about haggling with a shopkeeper, the favor swaying from his own until the keep saw Faust curled in Asra’s sleeve, asleep and innocent, yet enough to win her master a monster of a bargain.

Draining his glass, Asra sinks back in his chair, the wood sighing softly in a familiar tune. He certainly appears warmer, limber and relaxed. You lower your voice before speaking, as though not to disturb his peace. “And how long will you be staying?”

Asra leans forward in the chair, clearing his throat. He picks up his glass as though he’s forgotten he only just emptied it. He raises his head and locks eyes with your own. A droplet of rain, shaken from his hair, runs down his forehead into the shallows beneath his eyes, stilling there like tears.

“I’m staying. For good, this time.” Blush rises to the tips of his ears after he speaks. A touch impetuous, he thinks. “Rather, as long as you’ll have me.”

You blink. It’s a strain to keep a Cheshire grin from curling your lips, a chore to keep your eyes leveled on the table before you as you take up the bottle of wine and top off both of your glasses. “Well, now I can think of something worth celebrating.” You say, raising your glass in a toast as your gaze locks to his own. His eyes flicker in bright surprise, though he’s smiling, and you no longer see the need to hide it, allowing your own grin to unfurl like a flag over a banister to announce a war that’s been won.

Still smiling, you turn back to the fire to the soup you set to heat from the previous night, filling two bowls and bringing them back to the table. Your palms slide over Asra’s as you pass the bowl into his hands, causing you to start.

“You’re still cold.” You murmur worriedly, trailing your hands along his forearms, which are pricked with gooseflesh. The rain must have gotten to his bones. “Come with me.” You say, keeping your fingers interlocked as you guide him up the narrow staircase, your feet echoing on the hardwood like the rain pelting the roof. You stumble against each other, shoulder to shoulder, and your foot catches on the last step, a steep drop to the bottom hadn’t Asra caught you around the waist beforehand and wobbily helped you upright. You trail giggles down the hallway on the way to your bedroom, spilling past the frame into the cozy attic space. There’s no bed frame, rather, a mattress tucked into the alcove of the street-facing window, which casts blurry moonlight over the scattered pillows and heaped blankets. You drop to your knees and grab the closest quilt to drape around his shoulders, like a cape. “Perfect,” Your murmur, drawing out the vowels over the fog of drink that lingers in your mind as you smooth your hands over his shoulders.

Before you pull away, Asra’s hands capture your wrists, holding you to him. You blink, not before realizing how close the two of your are. You can see the droplets of rain captured still in his hair, the specks of white in his eyelashes, fluttering as his eyes dart up and down your face, lastly lingering on your lips.You aren’t sure if he moves forward first, or if you pulled him towards you, or, if like magnets, you were simply bound to come together this way. Yet, before your mouths connect, he tilts his face to the side, your lips only grazing at the corners. “Will you still want me in the morning?” He murmurs, though not lowly enough that you can’t hear the tremor in his voice. You raise your hand to cup his face, running your thumb over his cheek until his eyes raise to meet your own. He’s never seen you stumble on the stairs or slur your speech. He cannot know if you are speaking from the bottom of your heart or a bottle.

“Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you.” You whisper, without a slur or stutter, before tilting his face to yours, reveling in the full weight of his lips sealed to your own. Soft, slow to yield, he’s reliant on you to make the first move, the second, the third, as you take in each other’s lips from all angles. Until the moment clicks, and from there you slide together doubtlessly, warmed by the moment and sweetened by the wine that quick stuttered breaths pass between.

Asra’s hands slide from his lap to your jaw, stilling your frenzied movements as he takes your lips with more firmness, holding to their seal. His other hand smooths down the column of your spine, curving delicately around the notches of your vertebrae. You are aware, more acutely than ever now, that there is but a single layer of your tunic separating skin from skin. You can still feel him, the heat spreading from his fingertips to be absorbed by you, and you can’t stop thinking about what heat would come from Asra touching you directly. You draw back from the kiss with a shudder, feeling the hot clouds of his breath against your neck.

“Was that . . . acceptable?” He asks after a pause, his hands hovering over their previous caresses. He’s breathing hard, and there’s a wary hitch to his tone, as though he’s expecting you to push him away, waking him from a dream.

There are no words for this moment. So in response, you wind your fingers into his snowy curls to slant his mouth across yours once more. After a moment’s hesitation you allow your tongue to drag across his lower lip, soon to be met with his own, searching, wanting. A moan escapes you before you can think to stop it.

Asra shifts beside you, reclining against the pillows and drawing you flush against him. “Do that again.” He mutters hoarsely, trailing kisses along the column of your throat, as if to drink up the sounds that arise from it. “I’ve been terrified that I’d forget the sound of your voice. But I can’t forget. I won’t.” It isn’t difficult to elicit more noises; his lips pass over your neck with clear intent. He noses the loose collar of your tunic to plant open mouthed kisses on the exposed skin above your breasts.

The storm continues to rage in an encroaching smoulder, pushing against the window panes with force, punctuating each drop of rain that drills into the outside walls. Thunder crackles in the distance as intermittent bolts of lightning illuminate the room, Asra’s eyes, the glint of your teeth, for but one second at a time. Asra draws back slightly, curling his hands on the bed frame above your head, boxing in the space where exists only the two of you. A perfect paradise, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.  

“I love you as the rain falls. _Ceaselessly.”_ He breathes, wistful yet unwavering in locking eyes with your own.

You duck your head to hide the flaming scarlet creeping into your cheeks, burying your face into his chest. His clothes are still damp, the skin beneath burning against the chill that clings to the garment. Feverish. You’re feeling flushed yourself, but the heat emanating from him sends off sirens though the heady fog in your mind. “You should take these off.” You murmur, and hear his breath catch in reply.

Your words only seem to catch up to you after he’s pulled off his tunic, revealing the tanned planes of his abdomen, rising and falling with his deepened breaths. “S-so they can dry. Here, cover yourself with this.” You supply, pulling a sheet from the heap of multicolored blankets surrounding you, scrambling to your feet and focusing on the curled woodgrain of the bedroom doors as the shifting sounds of his undressing fight for your forefront attention.

“Here,” He says behind you, placing the bundle of clothes in your waiting arms. The sheet drapes over him like a toga, his dove white hair complete the picture. Aside from a head dress of golden laurels, he’s the picture of a god. _And he wants me,_ you think, raising a hand to your lips. He seems to read your thoughts as a smirk curls the corners of his mouth, taking a step back as he settles against the cushions, allowing the sheet to drop from his chest, exposing his abdomen up to the dip of his hipbones. If there weren’t a pile of soaked clothes in your hands to ground you to the moment, the world could have fallen away just then.

Stuttering down the staircase into the kitchen, you set his clothes by the fire to dry. Turning around, your gaze falls on the table where the two of you sat earlier in the evening. It’s a striking image, the two glasses sitting across from each other in intimate conversation. You had gotten used to dining alone.

You can’t help but wonder if he means it, when he said he was going to stay.

Your footsteps are much more careful heading back up the stairs; the cloud of wine lingers less now. Back in your bedroom, Asra’s splayed across the bed, chest rising softly in sleep as his eyelashes dust the crest of his cheekbones. You sink into the space behind him and raise your hand to stroke the damp tendrils of hair from his forehead.

“‘m not asleep,” He mumbles, turning over on his side to gather you in his arms, blinking his eyes open. He regards you for a moment before raising his head to kiss the hollow of your throat, working upwards towards your lips. This kiss is slower than before, sinuous and lovely.

Asra draws away with a soft groan. “That was-”

“Enough for tonight, I think.” You whisper back.

He pulls away, sliding his fingertips along your jaw to turn your face towards him, out of the shadows. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m afraid I’ll forget this.” You confess, making a fist in the sheet covering his form. The fabric remains wrinkled when he picks up your hand and twines your fingers together. A mournful look crosses his face, a pang that remembers the past.

“I will make you remember.” He promises, pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand, a seal to whispered word.

“How?” You say, tightening your hand around his.

“I told you,” He whispers back hotly, bringing your forehead to rest against his own. His eyes hold fire. It’s not raining outside anymore. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send fic requests to my writing blog, goddessfics.tumblr.com :)


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